


The Baby Owner's Manual: Operating Instructions, Trouble-Shooting Tips, and Advice on First-Year Maintenance

by pippinmctaggart



Category: Top Gear (UK) RPF
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-03
Updated: 2008-09-03
Packaged: 2018-03-30 20:50:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3951265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pippinmctaggart/pseuds/pippinmctaggart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Richard and James adapt, but do they adopt?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to [](http://tigertale7.livejournal.com/profile)[**tigertale7**](http://tigertale7.livejournal.com/) , who has ~~enabled~~ cheered me on through the whole thing. This fic wouldn't be the same without her valuable beta skills, and a fantastic (and fast!) Britpick by [](http://sunsetmog.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://sunsetmog.livejournal.com/)**sunsetmog**. Thanks, ducklings.
> 
> Title and chapter headings borrowed directly from the [book of the same name](http://www.amazon.com/Baby-Owners-Manual-Instructions-Trouble-Shooting/dp/1931686238), written by Louis Borgenicht and Joe Borgenicht.  
> 

**Chapter One: Welcome To Your New Baby - Diagram and Parts List**  
  
  
"Richard?" James shouted. " _Richard!_ " His voice held an odd note of worry.  
  
"It's just a bit of sand," Richard mumbled, curling up under the duvet. "I'll clean it up later."  
  
"RICHARD!"  
  
He opened his eyes, squinting at the early morning light. Okay, that had sounded like outright fear. Even James wasn't _afraid_ of a pile of sand on his kitchen floor. Besides, it wasn't Richard's fault--if Clarkson hadn't thrown up that rooster tail out at the Pendines and practically buried him, James's floor would still be spotless. "What?" he shouted.  
  
"HELP!"  
  
Richard scrambled out of bed. James's voice was never that panicky. What if he was hurt? He staggered into a pair of shorts, and then thundered downstairs at breakneck speed.  
  
Flying into the front hall, he came to an abrupt halt (so abrupt, in fact, that he nearly went arse over tit on the deacon's bench) to see James shutting the door with his hip, and turning around with a plastic washing basket clutched in his hands, his face as white as a sheet.  
  
"What?" Richard demanded. "What the fuck was all that about?"  
  
James looked down at the basket, and then mutely held it out for Richard to see its contents.  
  
Inside the basket was a pile of blankets, a cloth carrier bag, and...  
  
Richard looked up at James. "Is that what I think it is?"  
  
"If you think it's a baby, then yes," James said weakly. "If you think it's a Triumph Tiger, well, no."

"That's a baby," Richard said, feeling numb.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"James, that's a _baby_."  
  
"Yes, I think we've established that fact."  
  
"Where did it come from?" Richard's voice rose.  
  
James shrugged helplessly. "The front step."  
  
"Well, _put it back!_ "  
  
"We can't leave it outside," James protested.  
  
Richard jammed the fingers of both hands into his hair, clutching his head. "Why not? I'm fairly certain it's not ours!" he said, clinging to logic as best he could when presented with James and a baby at arse o'clock in the morning.  
  
James strode forward, forcing Richard to scuttle out of his way. He took the basket into the kitchen and set it on the table. "Don't be an idiot. She--he--it might get kidnapped."  
  
"What the hell do you think _we're_ doing?" Richard's voice cracked.  
  
"We're not kidnapping him--her--it. We're doing the Christian thing and taking it in out of the cold," he said firmly. "I wonder if it's a boy or girl?'  
  
Richard peered over the edge of the basket. His nerves were shot to hell, and he spoke without thinking. "How do you tell?"  
  
James stared at him. "How do you think?"  
  
"What? Oh, right. God, I need coffee." He turned away, crossing the kitchen to start the coffeemaker. He couldn't quite believe current events, and wondered if he were dreaming. He leaned his hands on the counter and closed his eyes. That had to be it--he was fast asleep in his bed upstairs, and this was simply the result of one too many cocktails last night. Mixing his fucking drinks, that always did his head in.  
  
A sudden, sharp wail assaulting his eardrums scotched that idea.  
  
"What did you do?" He whirled around.  
  
James was looking nervous. "Nothing! I didn't touch it!"  
  
"Well--well, make it stop!"  
  
"And how do you suggest I do that, Hammond?" James put his fists on his hips.  
  
"You could try picking it up, you pillock. It's--it's probably frightened, or something. Who wouldn't be, with a gigantic _you_ staring down at them?"  
  
James took a deep breath and then gingerly unwrapped the blanket surrounding the tiny child. It wore a simple white babygro underneath; no clue to gender there. He reached in, hesitated, and then picked the crying baby up. " _Shit_ ," he muttered. "I think its neck is defective."  
  
Richard stepped closer, shaking his head. "No, no, I know this one. Apparently they do that when they're new. Just...just support it with your fingers."  
  
James shifted his hands slightly and held the baby up, his long fingers cupping the back of its head. "Hello, you," he said softly.  
  
Richard felt something in his chest tighten, and he stood still, watching.  
  
"God, it's smaller than Fusker. Arms, legs, hands, feet. Two eyes and ears. Well, it seems to have all its bits, at least," James said, trying to find something positive to say. "That's good, right?"  
  
"Right," Richard croaked.  
  
The baby continued to cry, so James propped it up against his shoulder and began rubbing its tiny back. "See what's in that bag, will you?" he suggested to Richard. "Maybe there's a note or something."  
  
Richard lifted the small carrier bag out of the basket and looked into it. "A nappy, a bottle, a, a wotsit--a plug. Aha! A note." He reached in and pulled out several sheets of paper, folded into a precise square.  
  
"A plug?" James asked, confused.  
  
"You know, one of those things you pop in their mouth to make them stop crying."  
  
He rolled his eyes. "A dummy, you complete twat. Give it here."  
  
Distracted, Richard plucked it from the bag and passed it to him. James offered it to the baby, who eagerly accepted it and began sucking on it. In the resulting silence, Richard's whispered, "Oh, _bollocks_ ," was as loud as the horn on his Dodge Charger.  
  
"What?"  
  
"James," Richard said, controlling himself admirably. "Do you recall signing any papers recently?"  
  
"I don't know, I'm always signing things. What sorts of papers?"  
  
"Oh, nothing really, just some _legal fucking_ ADOPTION PAPERS!" So much for control. He shook the papers in front of James's face. "We've signed these! How did we sign these? These are our signatures! We've signed and we are now--" He stopped and gulped. "Bloody hell. Her legal parents."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
**Chapter Two: Home Installation**  
  
  
"Richard," James said worriedly. "Richard, are you all right?" He swiftly set the baby back in the basket and knelt beside Richard, who was now sat on the floor staring into nothing. "Rich?"  
  
"We're her daddies," Richard said, bemused. He felt odd, like his brain was floating around the room, entirely unconnected to his body. "Just like that. Without so much as a...a..."  
  
"By-your-leave," James supplied helpfully.  
  
"Right. Exactly." He looked up at James dazedly. "Her name, apparently, is Emily Elizabeth Hammond-May."  
  
"That's a nice name."  
  
"I repeat. _Hammond-May_."  
  
"Oh. Oh, yes. Well, I do see your point." James helped him up off the floor and dusted the sand off his bottom for him. "But there must be some mistake. Surely this is just a mix-up, and the baby was delivered to the wrong house, or something."  
  
"HAMMOND-MAY!"  
  
"Hmm. I suppose so, yes. Odd, that. Well." James opened a cupboard and took out two mugs. Pouring the coffee, he said, "What do you reckon our next step is, then?" He pushed one mug over to Richard, who'd sat on a stool at the counter.  
  
Richard grabbed it up and downed half of it, scalding his tongue in the process. "Ow, bollockth. Thit. Fuck." He waved one hand in front of his face, careful not to let his tongue touch any other part of his mouth.  
  
James poured him a glass of water. "Be careful, it's hot," he chided.  
  
Richard glared at him over the rim of the glass as he slurped the water. "Tosser," he said, gasping, when he'd finished. He set the glass aside and laid his head on the counter. "I need to think." He closed his eyes, and used the resulting silence (broken only by a bit of rustling, and then the unmistakable sound of James scraping a chair across the floor as he sat down) to ponder their situation.  
  
One, he thought. One, there seemed to be a baby. Two, they seemed to have a court-approved document (although how that could possibly be, Richard had no idea) naming James and he as proper, legal, life-long parents to said baby. Three...well, one and two were enough to be getting on with, weren't they?  
  
"There is a note here, Rich," James said.  
  
"What does it say?"  
  
"She--one can only assume the mother, in this situation--she says she cannot take care of her darling baby, but wants her to go to a good, loving home. She thought we'd be the right ones to raise her."  
  
Richard stared at the salt shaker only a few inches from his head. "That's cleared that up, then. Obviously, she's utterly mad."  
  
The baby began to whimper, and Richard lifted his head. The sight that greeted his eyes took his breath away.  
  
James, sitting on one of their kitchen chairs, cuddling a newborn baby inside his bathrobe and stroking a fingertip down a tiny cheek, was smiling beatifically.

  
  
  
**Chapter Three: Basic Care and Maintenance**  
  
"Right, what else?" Richard asked, scanning over his list. "Nappies, baby wipes, baby milk, bottles, blankets, rags--"  
  
"Rags?" James asked, the baby suckling on his newly-sanitized little finger.  
  
"You know, those cloths women put over their shoulder to catch the sick."  
  
James made a face. "Oh. Right." He sounded singularly unenthused.  
  
"Goddammit," Richard suddenly said.

"Rich. Not in front of the baby," James whispered, frowning.  
  
"It's not like she understands, you pillock. Who's going to go buy all this kit? I certainly can't--I'll be utterly mobbed!"  
  
"Doing it up a bit brown, aren't you?"  
  
"Fine, then, _you_ go," Richard challenged. There was no bloody way he was going to be caught going up and down the aisles of Sainsbury's carrying nappies and baby milk. Not a chance in hell, not until he'd gotten used to this whole idea. Not until he and James had worked out how to share this with friends and family, let alone the whole bloody world.  
  
James blanched. "I don't want to go. What if I buy the wrong things?"  
  
They looked at each other, at a loss. Emily spat out her dummy and began to cry.  
  
"Well, we have to do something," Richard ventured. "What about--"  
  
"Don't say it--"  
  
"Jeremy?"  
  
"No!" James said firmly, shaking his head. Emily cried louder.  
  
"Come on," Richard wheedled, leaning over to put a hand on James's knee. "He'll take the piss, yes, but he'll do it. You know he will."  
  
"Forget it, Hammond. I'll go myself."  
  
Richard shrugged. "Fine, then. But you'd better be quick about it, Slow. She sounds hungry."  
  
"I'll go get dressed." He rose and carefully held a squalling, red-faced Emily out.  
  
Richard stared at him, not lifting so much as a finger.  
  
"Richard?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Take the baby."  
  
Richard shook his head rapidly, his eyes wide. "Can't you just, you know, put her back in her basket?"  
  
"Richard?" James said calmly.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Take the bloody baby before I beat you over the head with the biggest spanner I've got."

Richard warily held out his arms and let James place Emily carefully in his grasp. "Oh, god," he whispered. "I'm going to break her."

James leaned down and placed a kiss on top of Richard's head. "You'll be fine, Hammond."  
  
Richard wasn't so sure, as he listened to James mount the stairs to the bedroom and thump around in the wardrobe. He looked at Emily's scrunched up face, and over her screaming said, "There, there, baby. Um. Yes, yes, you can stop crying now, there's a good poppet."  
  
The wailing proceeded undiminished. Richard rose to his feet and put her against his shoulder the way James had done, and began to pace. "Shhh, now. Shh, Emily. Don't cry, little poppet." He continued to walk around the kitchen, alternately talking to her and lightly jiggling her.  
  
"Richard?" James called from the front hallway.  
  
He barely caught himself from shouting back. "Yes?"  
  
"I'm off. I'll be back as quickly as I can. If you think of anything else we need, ring me."  
  
"Please hurry," Richard said, his voice cracking.  
  
There was a low chuckle as the front door opened. "You can do it, Hamster."  
  
Half an hour later, Richard no longer believed those words. He had expanded his pacing to include the kitchen, lounge, stairs, and both bedrooms; he had tried singing, reciting bad poetry, and humming. He was now reduced to begging.  
  
"Please, please, _please_ stop crying, Emily. Please. I'll give you a car. I have several, you can have whichever one you want. Well, except the 911. Or the Morgan. But you can have any of the others, if you'd just stop crying! What about a motorcycle? Does baby want a motorcycle?" he crooned desperately. "Perhaps not a bike, how about a pony? Would you like a pony, Emily?"  
  
Emily suddenly stopped crying, looking up at him with red, watery eyes and a wobbly chin.  
  
"Oh, you're a good girl," Richard whispered, his limbs feeling weak with relief. "Yes, you are. You can have all the ponies you want, you darling little poppet, just don't start--"  
  
She took a deep breath, screwed up her eyes, and resumed wailing.  
  
"--crying again," Richard moaned. "Oh god. This model's broken," he told the ceiling. "Can I get another one?" He propped her against his chest and retrieved the phone from its cradle in the lounge. His thumb flying over the buttons, he dialed a number and then tucked the phone between his ear and his shoulder, his free hand moving to rub Emily's back. "Please answer," he muttered, "Please, for once in your life answer your fuck--stupid phone." He eyed the baby, but she didn't seem inclined to censure him for his language. She simply continued to scream.  
  
Jeremy's voice suddenly filled Richard's other ear. "This had bloody well better be important--good god, what is that horrible noise?"  
  
"Jeremy, it's Richard," he said quickly. "Where are you?"  
  
"Northampton, why? Is that an air raid siren, Hammond?"  
  
" _Bugger_ ," Richard said. "No, it's not an air raid siren, it's a baby, and she won't bloody well stop crying. I'm going mad, Jeremy. You've got to tell me how to make it stop."  
  
"What the hell are you doing with a baby?"  
  
"Really not the point right now, Clarkson. You've had three of these, how do you get them to stop crying?"  
  
Jeremy began to laugh.  
  
"No. No, no, don't you dare," Richard threatened. "You can laugh all you want later, but right now you get a bloody grip, and you tell me what to do."  
  
Jeremy tried, but was mostly unsuccessful at stifling his amusement. "Where's May, locked in the bathroom?"  
  
"He's gone out for supplies. _Please_ , Jeremy," Richard resorted to begging. Emily assisted by injecting an especially piercing shriek into the conversation. "There's got to be something I can do."  
  
Still chuckling, Jeremy gave in, entirely for the baby's benefit, not his mate's. "Have you fed her?"  
  
"No, James is out getting baby milk right now."  
  
"That's likely your problem, you daft sod," Jeremy pointed out. "How old is she?"  
  
"Umm. I'm not sure? Not very; her neck is still, you know, all wobbly."  
  
There was a frown in Jeremy's voice as he asked, "What the hell is going on, Richard?"  
  
"What else could it be besides hunger?" Richard asked desperately, completely ignoring the perfectly valid question.  
  
"Well, her nappy might need changing. Hold her bum up to your nose and take a good whiff."  
  
Richard suspected Jeremy was having him on, but he did as he was told anyway. Lifting her up in the air, being careful to support her head with his fingers, he sniffed her bottom. "AUGH. That can't be normal!"  
  
Jeremy couldn't help but chuckle again. "I'm afraid it is. All right, change her, and when you're done, sit down with your shirt off and put her on your chest in just her nappy. She's overwrought now, and skin to skin is comforting."  
  
"Won't she be too cold?" Richard asked anxiously.  
  
"No, not unless it's freezing in there. If it is, turn the heat up a bit, you idiot. If you can reach the thermostat, that is. I thought you homosexualists were supposed to be good with babies?"  
  
"Apparently I missed that day in class," Richard muttered. "So, ehm, any tips on how to change a nappy?"  
  
"You truly are useless, aren't you, Hamster? They're pretty much idiot-proof these days, although since we _are_ talking about you, I don't hold out much hope."  
  
"Ha bloody ha. Thanks, Jez."  
  
"Call me if you need to. I'll be down in London tonight--I'm coming over."

Richard was about to protest, but then he sighed. "That might be best."  
  
After dropping the phone back into the cradle, Richard took Emily back out to the kitchen. "Where should I..." He looked around the kitchen. "There's sand on the floor, so that's out. James will never cook in here again if I use the counter. What do you think, Emily? Kitchen table?"  
  
Emily shrieked and waved her fists.  
  
"I'll take that as a strong preference." He hesitated, then spread the morning newspaper across the table. "No, that won't work, you'll get ink all over your bum." With a silent prayer that James wouldn't kill him, he laid out a clean tea towel over the newspaper, and then carefully, gingerly laid Emily down.  
  
Emily screamed and kicked her feet.  
  
"I know, I know, baby's got a dirty bum, hasn't she?" he crooned, undoing the poppers on her babygro. "How does this thing come off then, hmm?" He tried to do it efficiently, but between being afraid to hurt her, and the baby waving her tiny fists, it took nearly five full minutes to wriggle Emily out of her clothing. Her crying, staggeringly enough, grew even louder.  
  
"Shh, shh, now," Richard murmured, his full concentration now on the dirty nappy and how it was fastened. "Well, that doesn't look so hard. Let's give it a try, then, shall we? There's a good girl." He ripped the front tabs to the side, and pulled the front of the nappy down. And immediately recoiled, his arm held across his nose.

"Bloody hell! What on earth have you been eating, you atrocious child?" he choked. "That is... that's really, _really_ foul. Don't take it personally, poppet, but you are a very noxious baby." He quickly removed the nappy, bundled it up, and immediately tied it tightly in a plastic bag. "Next," he encouraged himself. "Okay. No wipes. Bugger." He looked around the kitchen, and decided to sacrifice James's tea towel. "We'll buy him some new ones for his birthday, how does that sound?" Cleaning her up as best he could, Richard pulled the single clean nappy out of the cloth carrier bag that had arrived with the baby. "One shot. Don't bollocks this up, Hammond." He opened it up, studying it closely. "All right. If the tabs pull around the front, then it must go...this way." He slid one end under her bottom, pulled the front up and, holding his breath, tucked the sides in and fastened the sticky tabs. He picked the sobbing Emily up, and cheered when the nappy stayed in place.  
  
"See! Your daddy is a genius." He stopped as he realized what he'd just said. "Erm. Right. Could you possibly stop crying now, Emily? Please? You've got a clean bum, things are definitely looking up. Come on, let's go try Uncle Jeremy's suggestion."  
  
Richard took her into the lounge, and for the first time in what felt like hours, sat down. He leaned back and laid her on his bare chest, her head resting over his heart. "Come here, poppet. Shhh, now. Shhh, that's my girl." Ever so slowly, Emily's loud wails lessened, softened, turned into little bleats. Richard began to hum, and ten minutes later, Emily was sound asleep.  
  
Five minutes after that, so was Richard.  
  


  
  
**Chapter Four: Feeding - Understanding Your Baby's Power Supply**  
  
"Richard?" James's voice slowly brought Richard back to consciousness. He was about to sit up when he became aware of a warm weight on his chest, and he froze. Surely it was Fusker? The cat had never curled up on Richard's naked chest before, but you never knew. The sensation of a tiny arm smacking him as it flailed scuppered that idea, however, and he was forced to admit (again) that the entire thing had _not_ been a dream. He lifted his head and looked down, and sure enough, a miniature person lay on him, and a small puddle of drool had collected on his sternum. Big blue eyes surrounded by impossibly long dark lashes met his, and he softened. "Hello, poppet," he whispered.  
  
"That has got to be the most painfully adorable thing I have witnessed in my entire life," James grinned from the doorway.  
  
"Where the bloody hell have you been?" Richard groused, then quickly plastered a smile on his face when Emily's brows began to lower. "No, no, it's all right," he sing-songed, tickling her cheek with a fingertip. "No more crying, or Daddy will have to gouge his eardrums out with a spoon and ram them up your other Daddy's arse for taking so bloody long at the shops. There's a good girl."  
  
"Everything's in the kitchen, _Daddy_ ," James said, turning and leaving. "Come look."  
  
"Bollocks," Richard whispered in secret to Emily, "I'm for it now." He sat her up on his chest to let the nappy absorb the drool and, once on his feet, tucked her into the crook of his elbow and followed James out. He stopped short in the doorway to the kitchen though, partly out of surprise and partly because there was hardly room left on the floor to take a step, so many boxes and carrier bags were there.  
  
"And _that_ ", James said pointedly, "Is why I took 'so bloody long at the shops'. Twat."  
  
"James, not in front of the baby," Richard reproached him, and then leaned forward and up to plant a kiss on James's lips. "Sorry, yeah? It's just, she wouldn't stop crying, I thought I'd killed her. I ended up having to call Jeremy, and he's the one who suggested resting with her skin to skin. Worked like a treat, too, we'll have to remember that one. Oh, and look!" he said delightedly, holding Emily up for inspection. "I changed her nappy, and it's even stayed on."  
  
"You told Clarkson about her?"  
  
"Yes, well, you weren't supposed to focus on that bit. Nappy, see?" he held the baby up again as evidence.  
  
"Oh, god," James groaned, running a hand through his tangled hair. "What did he say?"  
  
"Nothing much, except to malign my sexuality, my intelligence, and my height. The usual. He's, ehm, comingovertonight," Richard mumbled the last little bit as quickly as he could. "So where's the food in all this?"  
  
"He's _what?_ "  
  
Richard sighed. "Dropping by tonight. Look, James, we could use some advice here, preferrably from someone we know and...well, know. Not to mention the fact that someone's going to have to explain to Andy why we don't show up tomorrow, and I'd rather it was him than me."  
  
James sighed deeply. "Fair point," he conceded. He looked at Emily. "Not a bad job on the nappy, either."  
  
Richard grinned. "All right, let's feed her, before she starts crying again. I'll warn you right now, if she starts, I'll likely join her."  
  
"Right. Baby milk's in the Sainsbury's bag, if you want to find that?" James turned in a circle on the spot, looking at his purchases. "If I were a sterilizer, where would I be?"  
  
"What's that for?" Richard asked, spotting the bags with the milk in and lifting them one-handedly onto the kitchen table. One at a time, he took the tins out of the bags, inspecting each one as he did so.  
  
"You. I want to make sure we don't have any more children," James said with a withering look. "For the bottles, you pillock."  
  
"Don't mind your other Daddy, Emily," Richard whispered to her loudly. "He calls me an awful lot of names, but he really does love me."  
  
"The last thing I expected when I returned today was you calling yourself 'Daddy'," James commented. "Ah, there it is." He picked up a large bag that held a box, and carried it over to the counter to begin setting it up.  
  
"It rather took me by surprise as well. Do you know what you're doing with that?"  
  
James had the box open and pieces strewn over the work surface already. "There are instructions. Besides, how hard could it--"

"Dont. Even. Finish that," Richard warned darkly. He watched James for a moment, and then made a decision that he knew wouldn't go over very well. Still carrying Emily (quite honestly, he was afraid to put her down in case she began squalling again), Richard retrieved a pot from the cupboard and filled it with water at the sink. He put it on the stove and lit the gas.  
  
"What is that for?" James demanded.  
  
"Sterilizing one for now, just until you get that set up," Richard said, placating James with a puppy-dog look. "It's only...I'm a bit worried, James. Who knows how long it's been since she's eaten?"  
  
James harrumphed, but continued perusing the instruction booklet without further protest.  
  
Fetching the bottle from the bag that had arrived with the baby, Richard wordlessly handed it to James to undo the top and separate the pieces. He dropped them one by one into the water, and sat on a stool to wait for it to boil.  
  
Emily, out of patience and likely very hungry, kicked out twice with her wee feet and began to cry again. "No, no, please don't," Richard winced. "We're working on it, I swear."  
  
"She's a baby, Richard. Babies cry," James pointed out.  
  
"I know," Richard moaned. "It's just the cumulative effects on the psyche of a man who, eight hours ago, did not have a baby--and quite honestly, wasn't exactly expecting one."  
  
"It's not that bad."  
  
"Give it half an hour, and see if you still agree. Shhh, Emily, shh now. It's all right, dinner's on its way. Perhaps Daddy could leave the sterilizer for a moment and open a tin of milk for you? Because Daddy has his hands full with you, poppet, doesn't he?"  
  
"We can't both be Daddy," James said reasonably, putting aside the instructions to hunt in the drawer for a tin opener. "Think of the confusion when she's trying to learn to speak."  
  
"I'm Daddy," Richard said firmly. "You can be..."  
  
"Papa," James said it with a French accent.  
  
Richard rolled his eyes. "How about Dad?"  
  
"That works, too." He took the tin of SMA from Richard and opened it, then on second thought, gave it a sniff. He made a face. "Smells like leftover clotted cream."  
  
"As long as it doesn't smell like what came out of her bum today, I don't care," Richard said, and shuddered at the memory. "It was...shocking. I'm not sure you're going to be able to cope."  
  
"I can handle a bit of stink. I put up with you after you've been running, don't I?"  
  
"Oh! You wound me!" Richard exclaimed, wondering if he'd laced it with just the right amount of sarcasm. "Fine, you can change her next, and then you'll find out, won't you?"  
  
"Your water's boiling," James said equably.  
  
Richard set the timer on the microwave for five minutes. "Just a little bit longer, Emily. Shh. Who's a good girl? Hmm?" He lifted her up and nuzzled her stomach with his nose. "Oh, that's right, it's you!"  
  
Emily was so startled she was silent for a moment. So was James. They both stared at him.  
  
"What?"  


 

  
Ten minutes later, Richard and James stood looking at each other, the fully prepared bottle of milk sitting on the counter between them. "James," Richard said, "Why don't you feed her first?" He stroked a palm over the baby's head.  
  
James involuntarily took a step back. "No, you do it."  
  
"It's all right, it's just a bottle," Richard encouraged. "It's not like you'll have to fight to get her to take it."  
  
James shuffled, one hand rubbing up and down the opposite bicep. "I'll--I'll do the next one."  
  
Richard looked at him for a moment. "All right. Think you can find me one of those, wotsits? The rags, did you find out what they're called?"  
  
"Ah, yes. Right. Burp cloths." He quickly turned away and began rooting through his purchases. "Go on into the lounge, Richard, I'll bring it in."  
  
Richard carried Emily and the bottle into the living room, and took a seat in the corner of the sofa. Emily was still crying, but the second he had her settled and held the teat to her lips, she latched on with alacrity.

Richard watched her feed with more than a little wonder. So frail, so vulnerable, so helpless, and yet so utterly determined to drain the bottle as quickly as possible. "She drinks like Clarkson," he said as James entered the room.  
  
James snorted and draped a thick cloth over Richard's left shoulder. "Let's just hope she can hold it better than he can. I've only bought ten of those."  
  
Richard glanced down at it; it was chocolate brown with tiny pink polkadots scattered all over, and he could feel the softness of terrycloth underneath against his skin. "I was expecting neon pink duckies, or something," he teased. "This is very understated. Well done, May."  
  
James sat in the chair opposite and leaned his elbows on his knees. His eyes were riveted on the baby, tucked in the crook of Richard's elbow, her sparse hair dark against his pale chest. "Someone has to teach her some style."  
  
Richard laughed. "I agree, but she'll need better advice than 'buy a stripey jumper, they hide the stains well'."  
  
"Pillock," he said, but his eyes never left Emily. "Tip the bottle up a bit more."  
  
Richard immediately did so, but asked, "Why?"  
  
"You know what _I'm_ like when I get too much air with my lager. You don't want that combined with spitting up. Oh, and the lady at the shop said you have to burp her after, they can't do it themselves."  
  
Richard's forehead wrinkled. "Did she happen to mention how?"  
  
James nodded, tilting his head to see if Emily's eyes were closed. "You put her up to your shoulder--hence the cloth--and pat her back firmly."  
  
Richard shrugged. "Doesn't sound too difficult." He watched his partner watch the baby. "James?"  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
"Are you going to be all right with this?"  
  
"What?"  
  
Richard rolled his eyes but smiled at James affectionately. "The baby, you twonk. We've never discussed the idea for rather obvious reasons, but... James, do you even want a child?"  
  
James glanced up at him, intense and heated and fiery. " _Yes._ "  
  
Richard nearly gasped. He felt that look like ribbon in his chest, silkily soft and ready to bind him for life. "Oh," he breathed. "Yes. Good, then."  
  
"You've no idea, do you?" James murmured. "God, Richard, you look so... I want to take this moment and press it between the pages of Keats, or Donne, or Blake. I want to honour it. Savour it. I suddenly want more than I ever thought possible, and it's sitting right here in front of me."  
  
" _James_ ," Richard said, a thousand thoughts and desires and answers tumbling through his head. "James, come here." He shifted slightly, turning towards James when he sat right beside them. Without a free hand, and not wanting to jostle Emily too much, Richard was forced to be as subtle as he ever was. "Kissing me right now would be a very good idea."  
  
James leaned across and placed his lips on Richard's, gentle as a vow.  
  
Making a soft noise in the back of his throat, Richard broke the kiss several minutes later and leaned his forehead against James's. "Promise me something?" he whispered.  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
"When she cries for three days straight, or vomits on your most comfortable slippers, or shaves the cat, or brings home a boy- or girlfriend we both hate, or decides to put us in a home, promise me you'll remind us of this moment?"

James's laugh ghosted across Richard's skin. "Yeah. I promise." He kissed Richard again.  
  
Just then Emily gurgled, and both men leaned back to look down at her.  
  
"Hello, love," James said, and was rewarded with a toothless smile. He looked at Richard, beaming. "Did you see that? She smiled at me. That's her first smile, and it was at me."  
  
Setting the nearly empty bottle to one side, Richard grinned, and kept thoughts of gas to himself. "Of course she smiled at you. You're a very handsome bloke, May. All right, let's give this burping malarkey a go." He lifted her up to his shoulder, and James helped him arrange the cloth to catch any potential ramifications. Richard gingerly began patting Emily on her back.  
  
James watched expectantly, but after a moment said, "I'm not sure that's hard enough. The lady at the shop was quite adamant that you have to do it firmly."  
  
Richard groaned, but increased his strength. "Where's Clarkson when you need him? And don't you dare tell him I said that."  
  
Sure enough, a scant minute later, Emily let out a surprisingly impressive burp--along with a quantity of milk.  
  
Richard squeezed his eyes shut in distaste as he felt a bit of the sick run down his bare back. "No. Just...no. I am never doing this without a shirt on ever, ever again."  
  
Chuckling, James pulled the cloth out from underneath Emily and cleaned Richard up. "I think our washing's going to quintuple. But well done, Rich." He glanced at Emily. "Looks like someone's content now."  
  
Richard carefully lowered her down onto his lap where they could both gaze at her. Her eyes were closed, her rosebud mouth slightly open, and she was fast asleep, her fingers curled into tiny fists. Richard leaned his head on James's shoulder. "How long do you think this will last?"  
  
"Not long enough, I suspect," James answered with a smile. "Not nearly long enough."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richard and James adapt, but do they adopt?

**Chapter Five: Programming Sleep Mode**  
  
  
There was a loud pounding on the door before it swung open. "Hammond? May?" Jeremy shouted.  
  
Richard slid into the hallway on his socks. "Shut up, you fucking berk!" he hissed. "We just got her to sleep again!"  
  
Jeremy cringed--he remembered those days all too well. "Sorry, mate. Sorry, I didn't think."  
  
Richard opened his mouth to comment, but then stopped. "Too easy. Come on in. You want a drink?"

"Does May colour-code his sockets? Where is she?"  
  
"They're in the lounge, go on through. G and T?"  
  
"Brilliant, ta." Jeremy went into the lounge, finding James laying on the sofa with no shirt on, Emily on his chest. He sat down in the chair opposite. "She fussy again?"  
  
"Yes," James said quietly. He shifted his arms a bit, as if wanting to cover his chest, before finally subsiding again, one hand coming to rest on Emily's bottom. "Staying for a while?"  
  
Jeremy shrugged. "If you like. All right?"  
  
"If you want to." James looked away. "I made up the bed in the spare room."  
  
"Right."  
  
"Right."

Richard came in carrying three tall glasses in triangle between his hands. "Jez." He held them out and re-adjusted his grip when Jeremy took one. Putting the other on the end table beside James's head, Richard sat at the opposite end of the sofa as James pulled his knees up to make room.  
  
"Someone going to tell me where the hell you two got a baby from? As far as I remember, she wasn't around yesterday, and neither of you have looked particularly pregnant lately." Jeremy took a sip of his drink and looked at them with one eyebrow cocked.  
  
Richard glanced at James, and then picked up the adoption papers he'd left on the coffee table earlier. "James opened the front door this morning, and she was in a basket on the step--"  
  
"A _basket_?"  
  
"Washing basket," Richard nodded. "Along with these." He leaned forward to pass the papers to Jeremy, who took his reading glasses out of his pocket and set them on his nose, frowning, and began to read.  
  
James rested the toes of both feet on Richard's thigh and pressed lightly.  
  
Jeremy looked up over the tops of his glasses. "These look legal."  
  
"That's what we thought," Richard said.  
  
"And they've been signed."

Richard nodded. "We're not sure how. Someone had to've snuck them past us. But those are definitely our signatures."  
  
Jeremy sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, his glasses riding up on his hand. "Pay enough people, and I suppose you can get almost anything done for you these days. You'll have to have these gone over by a lawyer, you know."  
  
He nodded again. "We will. We want to make sure..." He hesitated, glanced at James, and when James prodded him with his toes again, finished, "Make sure they _are_ legal."  
  
Jeremy regarded each of them in turn. "You want to keep her."  
  
"Yes." Both men answered together.  
  
"And if you can't?"  
  
Richard looked away, and it was James who had to answer. "Her name is Emily Elizabeth Hammond-May. This morning we would have begged you to take her. Tonight, we will do anything to keep her."

"Emily." Jeremy raised an eyebrow, and then shrugged. "Well, at least I won't forget her name. Look, mates, not to dampen your little rainbow parade, but there are weeks at a time when neither of you are home. Surely you realise this will be the death knell of your careers."  
  
"Only one of them," James said, and he sounded oddly content.  
  
"You have a contract--" Jeremy started sharply, but Richard shook his head. "He won't give up Top Gear. We discussed this before you came, and we'll sort out a way to do this. We can bring her with us most times, and if it's absolutely impossible--well, I reckon there are two grandmas who would like the chance."  
  
Emily chose that moment to utter a squawk and awaken, her tiny fist waving in distress.  
  
"Richard?" James murmured. "Think my arm's a bit asleep."  
  
Richard leaned over and plucked the baby off his chest, clucking, "Why are you waking up, poppet? You were supposed to sleep for a while, yet." He winced as her little cries increased in volume to full-blown wailing.  
  
Jeremy took his glasses off and set them aside. "Give her here. Let Uncle Jeremy show you how it's done, you poor unfruitful sods."  
  
With a grin, knowing Jeremy had just announced his intention to overtly support them, Richard carried the fussing baby over and placed her in his outstretched hands. She looked even tinier in comparison to Jeremy than she had done to Richard or James. In reverse, Jeremy looked huge and clumsy holding her, although the surety of his movements belied that idea.  
  
"Well, then, little Miss Hammond-May," Jeremy rumbled down at her as he tucked her in against his chest, "What seems to be the trouble? Other than having those two pillocks as your parents, of course. That would reduce me to tears as well, and I'm a grown man."  
  
James snorted. "Richard, remind me not to let him babysit once she starts learning to talk."  
  
"I'm on it," Richard said fervently.  
  
Emily, however, was staring up at Jeremy in utter fascination, and her sobs slowly subsided. One chubby pink hand waved at his face.  
  
"Have the insensitive plonks changed your nappy recently, Miss Hammond-May?" Jeremy continued to talk to her, and his hand gently stroked circles on her chest, then pulled down the edge of the nappy to reveal an almost entirely healed belly button. "She's probably between two weeks and a month old," he commented in the same calm voice. "Give or take a week. What do you say, sweetheart, shall we hold a nappy-changing clinic?"

"Everything's out in the kitchen," Richard said, rising to his feet. "We'll set up a nursery as soon as...well, as soon as we know for sure."  
  
Jeremy ignored the hands held out to take the baby and brushed right on past, talking to Emily in a hushed tone all the while.

  
  
  
Half an hour later, Emily was changed and happily curled up in James's arms as Richard and Jeremy went through every item James had bought earlier that day. Jeremy dismissed some of it as rubbish, but for the most part it seemed James had done quite well, all things considered.  
  
Jeremy sat back in the kitchen chair he had claimed, crossing his arms over his chest. "Do you want the list of what you're missing?"  
  
Richard fetched a piece of paper and a biro, and joined him at the table, pushing the baby wipes aside. "Just the essentials to start with. Things we'll need no matter what happens."  
  
James frowned, but said nothing.  
  
Jeremy counted the items off on his fingers as he spoke them aloud. "Baby bath, baby soap--get that muck with lavender in, if you can--bibs, by the truckload unless you're planning on doing washing every other day. Oh, and washing powder and softener meant for babies, my kids did well with Comfort. A car seat. A pile of babygros, hat and mitts, and a sleeping bag. That, plus what you've got here, should see you through the next couple of weeks."  
  
Richard was furiously writing, and when he'd jotted the last item down, asked, "How often do they need to be fed overnight?"  
  
"Every three hours or so to start. She'll let you know, don't worry," he chuckled. "The secret is to keep it as quiet, dark, and calm as possible at night, and have bottles prepared in the fridge so all you have to do is heat it. Get used to being tired, even if you share the feedings. Face it, mates, she's running the show now."  
  
As if to prove it, Emily began to whimper, kicking out with her feet and stretching her body long.  
  
"Next lesson: how to swaddle your baby," Jeremy announced. "Richard, where did those receiving blankets go?"

Richard leaned over and pulled several out of a bag at his feet. "Shouldn't we wash them first?"  
  
"Yes, but I'll show you how to do it now. You can swaddle her if she's fussy at night, for another week or two I'd say. Wouldn't do it much longer than that." Laying the blanket out on the table, and gesturing James to set her down on it, he efficiently bundled Emily up within thirty seconds. Her eyelids immediately began to droop. "They don't all like it," Jeremy said with satisfaction, "but it looks like she's a fan." He unwrapped her again, tossing the blanket aside, and picked her up, laying her tummy-down on his forearm, his hand cradling her head, her arms and legs hanging down on either side of his arm.  
  
"Oi, she's not a rugby ball, Clarkson!" Richard protested, moving to take her, but Jeremy held him off.  
  
"Relax, Hamster, it's a perfectly good way to hold a baby. Especially if she's got gas."  
  
"Oh." He hesitated. "Really?"  
  
"No, I just wanted to see how long it took to drive you completely insane by doing something to endanger your baby. Idiotic twat."  
  
"All right, all right," Richard grumbled. "I'm new at this, remember?"  
  
"Are you ever." Jeremy watched as James started to fiddle with the sterilizer, putting two bottles in. "Do three."  
  
James looked over his shoulder. "Are you positive it can be stored that long?"  
  
He nodded. "One now, one around two a.m., and one around five. Overnight's fine, but I wouldn't do more than that at once. Sterilize the bottles and let them cool completely before filling them, then straight into the fridge."  
  
James bobbed his head once in acknowledgement and turned back to the sterilizer to add another bottle.  
  
"Jez?" Richard asked out of the blue. "Be honest. Do you think we can do this? Will we make good parents?" He had no idea why he was opening himself up to potential abuse like that, other than a sudden need for someone to hold his hand and tell him it was going to be all right.  
  
Jeremy grinned. "You'll be the best homosexualist parents I know." He caught the look in Richard's eyes, though, and sighed. "I'm only ever going to say this once, so listen up. And if you spread this around, I'll deny I ever said any of it and then set fire to your shorts. You and James are going to make incredible parents because you have a tremendous capacity for love. It's been evident from the day you finally put us all out of your misery and got together, and it's evident every time you so much as glance at this child. You will make mistakes, just like every other parent on the bloody planet, but I have no doubt whatsoever that you can do this."  
  
James and Richard both stared at Jeremy, a combination of gratitude and disbelief on their faces. "Who are you, and what have you done with Jez?" James finally managed.

  
  
  
Richard gave James's shoulder a shove. "Your baby's crying."  
  
James lifted his head and squinted at the clock. "It's half past four." With a grunt, he buried his face in his pillow.  
  
"I got up last time," Richard muttered.  
  
James turned his head slightly. "If I give you fifty quid, will you get up this time?"  
  
"No."  
  
Emily shrieked, and from the spare room they heard a thump and a shout. "Would one of you lazy bastards please stick a bottle in her mouth?"  
  
James rolled out of bed with a groan. "Coming, Emily," he mumbled, stubbing his toe on the end of the bed as he rounded it to fetch the baby. "Ow, _bollocks!_ " he yelped.  
  
"Shut up!" Richard moaned at the same time as Jeremy yelled it from next door.  
  
James limped over to the basket in the corner of the room and picked Emily up, cradling her in his arms. "Unfeeling sods," he muttered as he carried her out of the bedroom and down the stairs to the kitchen. "God forbid they should spare a little sympathy for anyone else. Shh, Emily, supper's on it's way. Shh, sweetheart." He took the last of the bottles he'd prepared the previous evening and popped it in the microwave. While it heated, he held Emily up in front of him, looking directly into her eyes for a long moment. "You frighten me a bit, little one," he told her softly. The volume of her crying decreased slightly as she grew fascinated with him. "You're so fragile. Generally speaking, I don't cope particularly well with fragile. You'll have to be patient with me as I learn how on earth to take care of you, all right?"

She grabbed a tiny handful of his hair and tugged.

James smiled and kissed the top of her downy head. "That's a deal, then." He tucked her in his arm and retrieved the bottle from the microwave. Grabbing a clean bib from the stack on the table, James took Emily into the lounge and relaxed on the sofa with her. Making sure the milk was an acceptable temperature, he held the bottle for her, watching as she eagerly took to it. As she settled down to a serious feeding, he pensively murmured, "I wish I knew how this was going to turn out. Preferrably before you break my heart."  
  


  
  
Richard woke to a large, firm hand shaking his shoulder. "What? What time is it? Jez? What's wrong?" He blinked owlishly.  
  
Jeremy was grinning from ear to ear--never a good sign, as far as Richard was concerned. "Shh. Get up and come with me."  
  
Richard screwed his face up, trying to think of a reason why he should--or better yet, why he shouldn't. He came up with nothing. "It feels really fucking early, Clarkson."  
  
"It is. I have to leave, if I'm to deal with the real world for you today. But come see what I found in the lounge. And bring a camera." With a devilish smile, Jeremy disappeared downstairs, remarkably silently for one of his stature.

With a deep sigh, but curious despite himself, Richard hauled himself out of bed and pulled on a pair of jogging trousers and a t-shirt. Knuckling at his eyes, he trudged downstairs, snagging his Nikon as he went. He found Jeremy standing in the doorway, blocking his view. "What--?"  
  
Jeremy turned, one finger to his lips, and Richard could finally see why.  
  
James lay fast asleep on the sofa, his mouth open and slack, his t-shirt riding up to show his pale, soft belly. Emily was curled protectively in his arms, and she was wide awake, happily gurgling and cooing quietly to herself, all ten fingers utterly tangled in James's messy hair.  
  
Richard's breath caught, and he covered his mouth with his fingers as if to hold back the words that wanted to spill out.

"Take a picture of May drooling," Jeremy said with barely whispered relish.  
  
Unable to help a tiny huff of laughter, Richard took off the lens cap and proceeded to take a series of ever-closer pictures of his partner and their (soon beyond doubt, hopefully) daughter. It tugged at Richard's heart, this tender moment between a man unused to being lavish with his emotions, and the virtually unknown baby that had been inserted so suddenly into their lives. A photo of Emily's smooth, perfect, milk-white skin against James's reddened, sun-lined face made Richard's pulse trip.  
  
"You're pathetic," Jeremy teased under his breath.  
  
"Yeah. I know."  
  
"Right, I'm off. I'll get you a week off from Andy, but no more--otherwise it buggers up absolutely everything. Get those papers to your lawyer today, and if you need anything, call. And for God's sake, Hamster, get that child a cuddle toy."  
  
Richard--briefly stunned into immobility at the word 'cuddle' coming from Jeremy's lips--chased him to the front door. "Jeremy--Jez. Thanks, mate. For everything, yeah? Seriously, we would have been up a creek--"  
  
Jeremy looked down at him, smiled, and then patted him on the head. "Stuff it."  
  
With a kick aimed at Jeremy's arse and a grin from ear to ear, Richard closed the door.  
  
  
  
  
  
**Chapter Six: Troubleshooting**  
  
  
"Oh my God!" James stumbled backwards, nearly tripping over Fusker who was innocently washing his whiskers in the middle of the kitchen floor. "Richard! Richard, something's wrong with the baby!" His eyes practically watering, James covered his nose and mouth with his jumper, edging closer to the table where Emily lay on her back, nappy undone.

Richard came running in a panic. "What? What happened?" He skidded to a stop, sliding on his socks. He took one look at the soiled nappy and began to laugh, pinching his nose. "I thought you said you could handle a bit of a stink?"  
  
"A bit, yes," James choked. "That is not a bit. That is a foetid, malodorous stench of unbelievable proportions."

Richard gave Emily a little tickle under her chin. "That's what she did to me yesterday, and you thought I was exaggerating. Whose a good girl, then, proving Daddy's no liar? Hmm? Yes, poppet, it's you."  
  
"Richard, I--I don't think I can do this--"  
  
"Yes, you can," he said firmly. "Mostly because I'll be damned if I'll change every single nappy for the next however many years. Just get the wipes and clean her up sharpish." Richard stayed nearby to encourage James, but refused to lend a hand. "That's it. No, just ball them up inside the nappy. Yeah. Yeah, roll it up and fasten it with the tapes. Perfect. Bung it straight in the rubbish, and Bob's your uncle."  
  
James hurried out the kitchen door to the large wheelie bin outside, and disposed of the nappy. Once the lid was tightly closed again, he let his jumper fall and took a deep, fortifying breath of fresh air before returning inside. "That's going to take some getting used to," he said darkly, eyeing Emily sideways as he went over her with another wipe, and then sprinkled on a generous dusting of baby powder.  
  
"Yes, it will," Richard agreed, and his smile faltered.  
  
James lifted Emily by her heels to slide the fresh nappy underneath, then quickly fastened it. He kissed the tender pink sole of one miniscule foot. "It will work out, Rich," he said softly, not looking up. "Don't even think otherwise."  
  
Richard turned on his heel. "I'm going to ring the lawyers again."  
  
"You said they're in court this morning."  
  
"I don't fucking care," Richard said tightly.  
  
  
  
  
"James, where's that baby book you bought?" Richard asked, frowning slightly. They were in the lounge, James reading a newspaper and Richard trying to write a column on his laptop. He'd taken a break to watch Emily sleep, and had stroked her downy hair.  
  
"In on the dining room table, why?"  
  
"She's got this...crust. On her head."  
  
" _Crust?_ " James asked, sounding vaguely disturbed.

"Yeah. It's like, I don't know, scales or something. I want to see if there's anything in the book." Richard left her sleeping in her washing basket and fetched the book. After reading for a few minutes, he found what he was looking for. "Cradle cap," he said blankly. "She doesn't even have a cradle."  
  
James snorted. "I doubt that has much to do with it, you pillock. What's it say?"  
  
Richard scanned down the text with his forefinger. "Common. Harmless. Rub a bit of baby oil in, then brush off the loose scales with a soft brush, followed by a shampoo."  
  
"Oh. Well, I reckon we can handle that."  
  
"Yeah," Richard said, then fell silent, staring unseeing at his blank laptop screen.  
  
"Richard." James watched him for a moment. "Richard."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Stop fretting."  
  
"I can't help it!" He leapt to his feet and began pacing. "How long does it take to contact the office that filed the papers? For fuck's sake, it's been two days, I could have crawled there and back by now."  
  
"I know. But getting yourself worked into a lather isn't going to help matters. It's going to be fine, so just sit down and write your column."  
  
"I can't concentrate."  
  
"How unusual for you," James said dryly. "Fine, then do some online shopping. We'll need nursery furniture, you might as well bookmark some, and we'll choose one in a bit."  
  
Richard sat down again, and after a glance at Emily, began to search for cots. He bit his thumbnail as he scrolled.  
  
  
  
  
Richard walked down the street, sunglasses on and head down. He'd been unable to sit still for more than two minutes, and James had finally grown sick of it and kicked him out for a few hours. They were expecting to hear back from their lawyer that afternoon; the waiting was driving them mad, but James was able to burn off some of his nervous energy through cleaning. Richard had tried working on one of his bikes, but when he broke the fuel line on his Ducati and threw a spanner through the plaster wall of the small garage, James had had enough. "Just go!" he'd snapped. "Get out. Walk it off, and don't come back until you have."  
  
So Richard had walked for the past two hours, and he was finally starting to feel more himself. He'd never been good at waiting for someone else to decide his fate, and this particular decision was the biggest of Richard's life. At the end of the day, he'd either be a daddy...or he wouldn't.  
  
At that thought, Richard raised his head and looked around him. Spotting a Marks & Spencer just down the road, he decided if they were going to lose Emily--and the longer the legal bullshit took, the more convinced he was that was going to happen--then at least he wanted her to have something to keep when she disappeared from their lives. She might never remember them, but at least one day she'd know _someone_ had cared. On that maudlin thought, he pushed open the department store door and found himself surrounded by baby clothes.  
  
"Bloody hell," he muttered, his gut twisting, as he fingered a tiny burgundy and cream corduroy dress. It had a matching cardigan with a soft little teddy bear sewn on it, and Richard was suddenly, horribly afraid it was going to unman him enough to make him weep. He quickly strode away.  
  
An hour later, Richard left the store feeling a little lighter in pocket, but considerably calmer. James would probably ridicule him for spending a hundred pounds on a bracelet for a baby, but the white gold and diamond bangle was just the thing; it was a keepsake that she would treasure always. Along with the bracelet, he had followed Jeremy's advice and bought a plush rabbit soft toy, white with a hint of pink on his cheeks. It was adorable, and had long ears and limbs a baby could easily grasp for comfort. His purchases in hand, Richard headed for home.  
  
Usually when he walked in the door, Richard dropped his bag, kicked off his boots, and shouted his presence to James. This time, however, he carefully removed his shoes, shuffled quietly through to the lounge, and set his carrier bag on the coffee table before removing his jacket and taking it back to the hall to hang it up. He poked his head in every room on the first floor and, finding them all empty, proceeded upstairs.  
  
Richard found James and Emily in the tiny third bedroom--the one they would use for the nursery if they got a favourable answer from the lawyer. James was stood by the window, Emily in his arms determinedly sucking on her bottle. Crossing to stand behind James, Richard wrapped his arms around the slightly thickened waist and leaned his head on James's shoulder. "Sorry I'm such a twat."  
  
A smile was evident in James's voice as he replied, "It's all right. I'm used to it."  
  
He kissed James's shoulder blade. "How is she?"  
  
"Fine. Nearly done with the bottle. Will you burp her? You seem to have a knack I don't."  
  
Richard dug his nose in beside James's spine. "She just likes vomiting on me, that's all."  
  
"Doesn't everyone?" James shifted the bundle in his arms. "All done, then, love? All right, Daddy's going to take care of that nasty burp for you. I'm going to take a shower." He turned and handed Emily to Richard, plucking the bib from his own shoulder and laying it over his partner's.

After Richard had burped Emily and tidied her up, he took her downstairs and laid her in her washing basket. "Go to sleep now, poppet," he murmured, and knelt beside her, letting her clutch his pinkie in her wee baby fist as she grew drowsy and finally dropped off. With a sigh, he shifted back onto his bottom, leaning against the sofa and watching her sleep until James came downstairs, still towelling his hair.  
  
"Did she go to sleep all right?" he asked quietly.  
  
Richard nodded. "Just now."  
  
James lifted one leg over the seat of the sofa, sitting so that Richard was between his knees. He leaned forward, the wet ends of his hair tickling Richard's ears, and placed a kiss on the top of his head. "Did you walk far?"  
  
"A ways, yeah. Ended up at Marks & Sparks." He passed the carrier bag to James, heard the rustle as the stuffed rabbit was removed.  
  
"That's sweet, I'm sure she'll love it. What else did you--what's--oh, _Rich_."  
  
Richard waited to be scolded for extravagance, but instead James gripped his head and tilted him backwards, kissing him hard and swift, even upside down. James rested his forehead on Richard's.

"It's beautiful, Richard," he murmured. "It's just fucking perfect. No matter what."  
  
"No matter what," Richard agreed in relief. "I didn't know if you'd--"  
  
"I get it. I'm so glad you thought of it."

They sat in silence for a few minutes, Richard's head tipped back and James curved down over him, forehead to forehead, until the position grew too uncomfortable to bear. Richard reluctantly sat up, instead reaching one hand back over his shoulder to clutch James's, and they waited for the phone to ring.  
  
Forty-five minutes later, it did, but it was Richard's mobile and not the house phone. "'Lo?"  
  
"Richard. Any news?" Jeremy's voice seemed subdued, for him.  
  
"Not yet, no."  
  
"How's James?"  
  
Richard huffed a laugh. "Better than I am. He had to kick me out earlier before I went completely mental."  
  
"That wouldn't take much, would it?" Jeremy automatically rejoined.  
  
"Not today, it wouldn't. How did things go at the office, dear?"  
  
"Good, actually. Things run a lot smoother around here without you two cocking about, fornicating in the storage rooms and all."  
  
"We've never!" Richard began hotly, then lowered his voice at a sharp poke from James. "Bastard."  
  
But whatever Jeremy said next was lost as the house phone rang. Richard clambered to his feet before James could even move, and he tossed his mobile in James's direction before flying out to the kitchen to answer before the third ring.  
  
James lifted the mobile to his ear. "Jez?" he said, his voice suddenly tight. "The phone just rang. Do you want to--I mean, can you stay on the line? You might as well know, too."  
  
"Don't you _dare_ ring off," Jeremy growled.  
  
"I won't." They both lapsed into silence, James straining his ears in a futile attempt to hear what Richard was saying at the other end of the house. When he couldn't make out anything but a questioning tone, he got to his feet and walked through to the kitchen doorway.  
  
Richard was facing away from James, leaning with one hand on the counter, the other holding the handset with white knuckles. "Right," he said, taking a deep breath. "No, I understand. Yes. Yes, thanks for letting us know. Bye, then." Gathering himself, he turned, startled to find James in the doorway, looking stricken.

Richard's eyes began to shine, and slowly an enormous smile spread across his face. All he could manage to say was, "Yes."  
  
It took a moment for the realisation to sink in for James. He staggered slightly, blindly groped for the door frame, and missed. His knees gave out, and he sank to the floor, the mobile phone forgotten in his hand.  
  
Richard crossed to James's side, feeling a little unsteady himself. He lowered himself into one of the kitchen chairs and laid a hand on top of James's hair. "She's ours," he murmured. "James, she's ours."  
  
James's shoulders shook with sobs of relief, but when he lifted his head, his eyes were dry. He looked up at Richard mutely.  
  
There was a full minute of complete silence, of Richard and James finally allowing the joy to creep in. Then they heard Clarkson bellowing at the top of his lungs through the mobile.

"Would someone please tell me _what is going on?_ " he yelled. "May? Hammond!"  
  
James looked at the phone and then held it out for Richard to take.  
  
Richard held it up to his ear. "Jez?"  
  
"Richard! Well, what happened? Tell me, man!" Jeremy demanded.  
  
"It's all right, Jez," he said, his voice a bit shaky. "We can keep her. It's legal, we just have to formalize it with the courts. She's--she's our daughter."  
  
For only the second time in his life, Jeremy Clarkson was speechless.

  
  
  
"Are you sure we have everything?" James asked for the fourth time, patting down his pockets.  
  
Richard rolled his eyes. "Yes, James, we have everything. We have everything but the fucking kitchen sink, so can we please get rolling? I'd like to get to Dunsfold sometime today, if you don't mind."  
  
"Right. Well. If you're sure, then." He picked up the car seat and opened the door. "Have we got the--"  
  
"Yes!" Richard cried. "Whatever it is, we have it! Go!"  
  
"All right, no need to get testy," James muttered. "Daddy should have had a little less coffee this morning, shouldn't he, love?" He reached down to adjust Emily's hat.  
  
"Yes, and Dad should have had a bit more." Richard locked the door and followed James out to the Panda. "You know, if I left you here, I could take her in the Porsche."  
  
"No, you couldn't. It's got no back seat."  
  
Richard cocked his head. "Damn. You've got a point, there."  
  
James opened the rear door and began securing the car seat to its base in the back seat. "Ready to see Uncle Jeremy, Emily?"  
  
"Jeth!" she gurgled, and clapped happily.  
  
"Seriously, her first word couldn't have been Dada?" Richard complained for the hundredth time.  
  
"Dada!" she chortled, drooling a little. "Dada dada!"  
  
James tried to tone down his grin as he climbed in the driver's side. "Get in, Rich. If we don't get there soon, the Stig won't have time to take her out in the Veyron before bed."  
  
Richard climbed in, still grumbling. "I'm telling you, James May, if she starts to refuse to sleep without a ride in the Veyron first, I'm holding you entirely responsible."  
  
"You do that, Richard," James said equably. "You do that."  
  
Richard crossed his arms on his chest, but an irrepressible smile curved up one corner of his mouth.  
  
"Dada!" Emily shrieked from the back seat. "Dada!"  
  
As James pulled out into traffic, Richard turned in his seat to look back at their daughter. "Hi, poppet. What have you got there?"  
  
Emily held up a toy white helmet in one chubby fist. "Thig?"

James began to laugh, and after a long groan, Richard couldn't help but join him.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Children Will Listen](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11108223) by [8lapetitehirondelle8](https://archiveofourown.org/users/8lapetitehirondelle8/pseuds/8lapetitehirondelle8)




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